


Jesus, Mary, Joseph Kavinsky

by PledgeAllegianceToTheStruggle



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PledgeAllegianceToTheStruggle/pseuds/PledgeAllegianceToTheStruggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gansey had been right about one thing; in this moment, here in this field, Kavinsky was king. His white sunglasses sat on top of his head like a crown with his Mitsubishi as his throne and a bottle of vodka as a scepter. Ronan allowed himself a moment to wonder what it would be like to kneel before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He could feel the warm leather underneath him and sweat was already trickling down his neck. He breathed in and there was a sharp, earthy smell. Ronan opened his eyes. It was dark out and he was sitting in the BMW. He couldn't remember what he was doing that led him to waking up in the car. Was this a dream? He couldn't tell yet.  He looked over to the passenger seat and saw the remnants of a six pack scattered on the seat and the ground below. That would explain some things, but he didn't feel drunk. He looked out the window and saw parked cars surrounded him. There was the glow of light coming through the trees and he could hear the dull buzz of people talking and laughing and feel the faint vibrations of a bass system through his seat. His pulse quickened, he knew where he was now.

 

Ronan pulled himself out of the driver seat and made his way to the old fairground clearing. His steps were steady so he definitely wasn't drunk, the not yet or not anymore part was harder to tell. He could hear glass breaking and the air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and the musty, sweet smell of weed.

 

"Hey fuck face, you're late," a very loud and very angry voice yelled over the music. He was barely within the clearing and he knew who it was. Where was Kavinsky of all people getting off on breaking his balls for being late? Ronan could never remember when he had ever showed up on time for anything.

 

"Sorry, but your mom is a hard woman to satisfy,"  Ronan yelled to no one in particular since he was still pushing past people to get to where the action was. He couldn't see Kavinsky, or even figure out how the hell he could tell he was there.  This thrilled him for a moment, but then he pushed it away thinking that the bastard probably had some sixth sense for knowing where his mortal enemies were at all times.

 

Once he managed to get to the edge of people he realized how Kavinsky was able to see him arrive. Standing on the hood of his Mitsubishi, Kavinsky was taking a swig of vodka from a bottle in one hand and making an obscene gesture with the other. 

 

Gansey had been right about one thing; in this moment, here in this field, Kavinsky was king. His white sunglasses sat on top of his head like a crown with his Mitsubishi as his throne and a bottle of vodka as a scepter. Ronan allowed himself a moment to wonder what it would be like to kneel before him.

 

"I'm just glad Daddy Dick was kind enough to let you out of the house without a chaperone this time," Kavinsky shouted as he jumped from the hood to a rather graceless landing that caused him to fall back onto the car. Ronan noticed the bottle he was holding was close to being finished. He was vaguely aware of the spectacle of pyrotechnics and reenactments of the fast and the furious going on behind Kavinsky, but Ronan was only able to focus on the v-shape that was created by the protrusion of  hipbones from the body in front of him.

 

_Jesus Christ, this better be a dream._

 

 

Kavinsky stood up and looked away at group of people to the side of Ronan as he came up to him.

 

"What I'd like to know is how it is you're over 3 hours late. I know for a factDick doesn’t last that long. I've seen the way that guy drives his car, he's  definitely a minute man. Does he only bang you mission-," he never finished his thought since Ronan was swinging at his head, but in managing to avoid most of the impact of the punch he also lost his footing. Ronan grabbed his wife beater to both stop him from falling and pull him up to his face.

 

"We aren't talking about Gansey tonight."

 

Ronan hadn't intentionally meant to bring him as close as he did, but in his anger, he forgot just how drunk Kavinsky was and he offered no resistance at being pulled face to face.

 

He could smell the alcohol as Kavinsky breathed and  Ronan saw something dangerous glean in the eyes in front of him. Only when he broke into half a smirk did Ronan allow himself to break eye contact and look at his mouth.

 

This was an arms race, where each of their actions was closely watched and analyzed by the other. Ronan and Kavinsky both knew that  the first one to make a move would guarantee their mutual destruction.

 

"This is going to be a fan-fucking-tastic night," Kavinsky said as he pulled himself out of Ronan's grip.  
  
"  I'm glad someone finally  fucked some sense into you," he quickly added a, "hey I never said who," when he saw the acidic look that Ronan shot him. Following Kavinsky back to the hood of the Mitsubishi, he watched as a ziplock bag of fine white powder was pulled out of his pocket. A generous amount was poured on the hood. It was a wonder he could do lines off his car when the coke blended in with the paint.  He frowned as he thought about how much of the hood was probably already covered in the substance.  
  
"Don't get  judgey, Lynch, I don't want you getting all your Catholic guilt all over me," he leaned over and snorted long and hard, " I just want to be prepared for whatever the night gives, or takes tonight." There was something in the way that he said the last part that made Ronan's heart speed. An uncomfortable knot was beginning to form somewhere in his lower abdomen.   
  
"So what now?" Ronan didn't want to sit here and watch him do lines all night.  
  
Kavinsky pulled back as if coming up for air and he turned to Ronan. He saw his eyes refocus on him, like it was the first time he was really looking at him that night. They were matching pools of darkness that Ronan had to be careful not to drown in.  
  
A shark like grin spread on the face in front of him," First, you're doing a shot for every half hour you were late."  
  
He was surprised at how easy Kavinsky was letting him off. Six shots wasn't _that_ bad, he was going to get drunk quickly, but he wasn't going to be wasted either, not with his  tolerance. When he saw Proko pull out a bottle of 100 proof liquor he realized that he wasn't the case at all.

* * *

  
  
Things began to start blurring together, as more drinks found their way in his hand, he was  unsure of how much time had passed since he got there. He watched as Molotov cocktails flew and exploded in the air, he had to duck out of the way of the flying glass more then once. His reaction time was getting slower with each  drink he took down and by the time a particularly large bottle came flying by, he felt the heat from the flame sear across his face and he had to close his eyes.

 

 For a moment he thought it had hit him, he was pushed against a car by something very solid and hot. But his body was having a rather interesting reaction  to being hit with a Molotov.

 

"Jesus Christ Lynch, get out of the fucking way."

 

Ronan opened his eyes and found Kavinsky pressed up against him, with a fistful of his black tank top and he was pinned against someone's black Volkswagen Golf. This was a very dangerous position to be in given the fact that Ronan was too drunk for self control.  He prayed that Kavinsky was also either too drunk or high to tell that there was a noticeable tension building between them.

 

Kavinsky's eyes widened ever so slightly.

 

_Fuck it all to hell._

 

He had noticed.

 

His body had betrayed him. Kavinsky started laughing and Ronan's face was burning again, but this time from embarrassment. He let go of his tank and with the same hand reached down between his legs and grabbed a handful of him. It was too hard to be a turn on and as Ronan doubled over from the pain, he yanked up so hard Ronan was sure his balls had crawled up into his liver to die.

 

He crumbled to the ground and clutched a tire for support. He was still hard and he was pretty sure Kavinsky had ruptured both his balls.  He saw a pair of jean legs bend down, and he heard a voice  in his ear, "I'm impressed, Lynch, that's quite some heat your packing there."

 

He tried to focus on his breathing rather then the growing painful problem in his pants. He could see Kavinsky's white Air Force Ones walking away.

 

"Follow me Lynch, you owe me for saying that ass of yours."

 

 

He heaved himself up using the car hood for leverage. Kavinsky was already making his way a few yards to his white monstrosity. There was no one else there. He swore a moment ago the party was in full swing. Now it was just Kavinsky's handful of delinquents doing donuts and playing drinking games around where he stood.

 

Maybe this was a dream after all. Time felt like water in his hand tonight, he couldn't hold onto it no matter how hard he tried. The harder he tried to pin down his actual time frame the faster time seemed to speed up.  If that's what this was, then he sure as hell was going to make the most out of it.

 

_Well, right after this._

 

Ronan followed  Kavinsky as he open the back door of his car. Ronan swung hard at his head again, but unlike earlier, Ronan was the drunk one and Kavinsky had enough coke in his system to put his reaction time way ahead.

 

Ronan's arm was painfully twisted behind him as he felt a hand push his head down over the trunk of the car.

 

"All you had to do was ask, if you wanted me to  bend you over, Lynch."

 

Ronan could feel Kavinsky's hips making very  deliberate  back and forth thrusting motions  against his exposed backside as he laughed at his own joke. Ronan was angry, but he also found his other problem returning again. The hand on his head snaked down his back, tracing the outline of his tattoo even though Ronan still had his tank on. Now the mock thrusting had turned into something more along the lines of grinding. Kavinsky had made his way to the small of his back and spread out his hand to get a better grip. At least now, Ronan wasn't the only one clearly turned on. Kavinsky lowered his torso onto Ronan's back and he could feel his bottom lip brush against his ear.

 

 

"Get your ass in the car."

 

He felt him get off, and before he removed himself from his backside, he ran a finger under the waistband of his protruding boxers snapped it against his skin.

 

"I didn't really peg you for designer boxers, silk right? They're going to look great on the floor of my car."

 

Ronan was afraid to move once Kavinsky had gotten off of him. If he moved, everything that had been building up since he first met Kavinsky would be unleashed. All those nights spent racing, all the mind games and coded language, the dream gifts, every touch that had been seared into his body's memory.

 

 

"I said. Get. In. The. Fucking. Car."

 

 

Ronan was pulled from the back of the truck to the open doorway. Kavinsky slid his hand from his shoulder to his neck and began thumbing the line of his jaw.

 

"What do you want from me?" Ronan knew this was a very dangerous question to be asking with Kavinsky's eyes bearing into his and a smile playing at his lips.

 

 

"I want you to knell before your king."

 

Their mouths collided. Kissing Kavinsky reminded him of a car crash; explosive. He couldn't pull away. When Kavinsky ended up breaking it off, he was gasping for breath. He wiped his mouth with one hand and directed Ronan's head into the car and pushed him backwards into the seat.

 

He laid there back flat against the seat, but his legs were still partially sticking out the open door. Kavinsky was peeling off his wife beater and tossed it to the side as an afterthought. He never took his eyes off Ronan.

 

He came in and leaned over him, the fluid motion of his back arching into him made Ronan come up to meet his mouth.

 

"You play hard to get Lynch, but you really are an easy little slut," he teased as he darted away from Ronan's mouth, instead moving across the middle console and popping in a cd. A loud bass line thumped and vibrated.

 

 

He was still smiling when he came back to his original position. He wanted Ronan to want it, beg for it and make the move himself.

 

Kavinsky looked up at the ceiling in thought, "Where were we again?"

 

"Shut up, you fucker."

 

Ronan grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked him back to his mouth. Leave it to Kavinsky to turn making out into a power struggle. Tongues darting and lips brushing for positions, this was raw and rough.

 

Kavinsky began to explore the areas south of his mouth. He could feel his tongue flicking against his neck and lips brushing against his Adam's apple. Teeth were also skimming across the surface, daring Ronan to move. 

 

 

His head rolled back, and his breathing was becoming more labored. Kavinsky laughed into his neck, "Don't be coming before the main event," and he bit hard just where he had kissed.

 

"Jesus Christ what the fuck was that for?" Ronan managed to half get out. He was trying his hardest to not seem like he was enjoying this too much.  He was almost  positive he drew blood, yet  at the same time he was trying very hard to suppress a moan. Ronan  didn't recognize pleasure unless it had a source of corresponding pain.

 

Kavinsky's eyes flicked up from his chest as he pushed up his tank, "I'm just marking my territory."

 

He went back to work moving towards his nipples; flicking, teasing, biting. Ronan heaved his hips upwards, and Kavinsky's met his halfway and they began moving in synchronized motions.

 

Ronan had pulled him back up to his mouth, and with all the attention he had been receiving he was in danger of coming right there with all his clothes on.

 

_Just focus on one of  Blue's fashion disasters._

 

Luckily he didn't have to think about it long, Kavinsky tugged his bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away and he straightened above him.

 

He began undoing his pants and Ronan was relieved for a moment, until he saw Kavinsky's head go down.

 

If Kavinsky didn't notice him fully at attention as he slipped his jeans and boxers down his legs, he definitely noticed the writhing and muffled moans as Kavinsky's mouth moved up and down his shaft. He clawed at anything he could get his hands on; the passenger seat to the right of him, the door handle above him and then lastly, he latched onto Kavinsky's hair.

 

_Jesus, Mary, Joseph fucking Kavinsky._

 

The release he felt was pure ecstasy. Nearly eighteen months of sexual tension had just been released from his body. His breathing slowed, and he felt himself drifting again. Was he beginning to wake up or fall asleep?

 

From half closed eyes, he could see Kavinsky wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

"You fucking pillow princess, you're seriously going to leave me hanging after that performance?" He was clearly annoyed, but Ronan couldn't do much to reciprocate since he was having trouble focusing and his eyes were completely closed now.

 

He was vaguely aware of Kavinsky's shifting weight above him, and he felt him lean down and give him one last rough kiss, and he felt a small object get pushed in his mouth along with a tongue.

 

The last thing Ronan heard was Kavinsky yelling, " Proko, get your ass or your mouth over here, I don't give a fuck which one it is."

 

Suddenly there was only blackness.

* * *

 

 

Ronan was jerked awake by a loud tapping on his car window. He almost thought it was Chainsaw but when he dared to open his eyes he saw a very annoyed Gansey peering in his tinted window.

 

He fumbled to the ignition and thankfully his car keys were still sitting there, he flipped to accessories and the window buzzed down.

 

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

 

The onslaught of light pouring intoo the car told him it was sometime in the afternoon, and way too fucking bright. He squinted as he turned to Gansey.

 

 

" You look like absolute hell, Ronan. Have you been out here all night?"

 

Ronan  didn't know how me managed to end up back at Monmouth, maybe he never left. He looked at the passenger seat. Gansey also got a full view of it as Ronan turned.

 

"When I said I didn't want you drinking in the warehouse, I didn't mean I wanted you getting shitfaced in your car."

 

It was too bright out and he was too hungover to be getting reamed out by Gansey.

 

"Dude, chill the fuck out. At least this is self contained, you've found me in worse places."

 

He tried to lean out the car window to show Gansey he didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt, but something on his head bumped against the top. When he Gansey's face slip from muted anger to a very brief moment of abject horror, Ronan tried to pretend he didn't know what he was seeing. To his credit, Gansey recovered quickly and went right back to being annoyed.

 

 

"Ronan Lynch, what the _hell_ is that on your neck? Wait, don't tell me, I have a feeling I really don't want to know." He was shaking his head and already making his way back to the door to the warehouse.

 

"Adam will be over soon, so whenever you feel like making yourself look  somewhat respectable and less like you got mauled, then we can head over to Nino's."

 

 

Ronan leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes again. Maybe if he sat here long enough the marks on his neck and the object on top of his head would go away. Maybe this whole thing would go back to being just a dream.

 

His head was pounding and sleep wasn't going to come back to him for quite some time. He reach and grabbed what he already knew was Kavinsky's sun glasses from his head. He examined his neck in the reflective lenses. There was several large red and purple welts on his neck that weren't going to go away within the hour. He hurled the sunglasses  as hard as he could out the car window.

 

_Fucking Kavinsky._


	2. Trophy Room

An array of various pieces of denim and cotton rained down the room as Ronan searched through his clean clothes pile, then his dirty clothes pile, then back again. They just weren’t here. Ronan moved from his room out to the main area in the loft of Monmouth. It was possible he had discarded his clothes shortly after making it into the door.

Gansey was sitting at his desk with some Latin homework and looked up when he heard the stomping and the hurricane of papers, books, and clothes flying all over the room.

“May I ask what my possessions have done to offend you so severely?”

He dropped his pencil and peered over his glasses to watch Ronan move and attack every pile of objects in the vicinity. A large hardcover book slide over to where he was sitting and stopped at his feet.

“Ok, before you ruin all of my research, why don’t just tell me what you’re looking for? I’ll help you look.”

Ronan was now half under Gansey’s bed frame, with his legs sprawled out.

“I can’t find a pair of boxers, my Armani ones.”

Gansey didn’t quite understand why Ronan was so attached to these particular pair of boxers, but if he had to guess he assumed it had to do with the fact they were Armani and it was probable they were a gift from Niall. Georgio Armani had been Niall’s favorite designer, all of his suits had been from him. Declan had taken most of them after his death, which had only stoked the anger that Ronan felt for his brother. He remembered how Ronan had called him the ‘textbook example of an empty suit’. Ronan himself had been gifted with various things from his father, practical things that Ronan sometimes did actually wear, like boxers and belts.

“Maybe it’s in your car?”

Ronan slid himself out from the bed.

“What the hell makes you think that it’d be in there?”

It had been a simple question, but Ronan had his eyebrows raised and looked slightly panicked.

“I’m just saying sometimes you crash in there, right?”

“Why the fuck would my pants, let alone my boxers, come off?”

“I don’t know,” Gansey said as he shrugged, “I mean they obviously aren’t here so perhaps they fell out of your gym bag.”

Ronan seemed pacified by this for a moment, but after a thoughtful moment, realization dawned on his face and he punted a trash bin across the room.

“What is wrong with you?!” Gansey yelled as he got up to retrieve the bin.

Ronan’s face was twisted in a scowl that was a gross over reaction for misplacing a pair of boxer, it was typically a scowl of the caliber that he used for Declan. As an answer Ronan stormed back into his room and slammed the door so hard that it shook the surrounding wall.

“So it’s going to be one of those days is it,” Gansey mumbled to himself as he bent down to pick up the papers and books Ronan had thrown around the room.

Ronan searched his bed for his phone and pounded in a text.

_I want them back you fucker_

His phone buzzed in response nearly as quickly as he sent it.

_HAHAHAHA_

Ronan side armed the phone into the wall and grabbed his head with both hands. He hadn’t noticed it at first, the uncomfortable chaffing of his jeans when he woke up in the car after the party, there were more pressing issues to deal with, namely the welts he had on his neck.

There was no way in hell he was going to risk questions about the bruises, specifically the question of _who_ had given them to him. It was bad enough he had to ask Gansey for Blue’s number (under different circumstances he would have enjoyed the wide eyed look of incredulity at the request) and it was near torture to actually have to talk to her.

“Hello?”

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” He remembered wincing and struggling to get the words out.

“Wait….is this _Ronan_?” He could hear both the shock that turned to subtle smugness by the time she reached his name.

“No it’s the fucking Queen of England.”

“How did you even-“

“Can you help me or not?” He sneered, he was losing patience and time quickly.

“I mean I can try, what could you possibly need from me though?”

Ronan paused and breathed deeply, he really, really wished he didn’t have to say what he was about to say.

“I need makeup, like cover-up or foundation or whatever.”

There was silence on the other end, Ronan could feel Blue trying to understand his request and then the silence morphed into an embarrassing amount of time.

“I need it to cover a bruise.”

“Did something happen to Adam again?” There was worry in her voice, the memory of Adam’s trip to the hospital was still very fresh.

“It’s for me.”

“If you got into a fight, it serves you right. I should let you walk around like that.”

“I _didn’t_ get into a fight. Can you help me or not?” He growled into the phone.

“I guess I could ask Orla-“

“Great. Get over here asap.” And then he ended the call.

It had felt like an eternity while he waited for Blue to show up, he took a shower to both kill time and see if cold water would tone down the redness on his neck.  All the shower really did was alert him to the fact that his neck wasn’t the only place with hickies.

With a tentative knock on the door, Blue cautiously pushed the door open and stuck her head in. Ronan was pulling a black tank top over his head.

“Hurry up, Gansey will be back soon with Parrish.

Ronan turned to her and Blue soon saw the bruises he was talking about.

“Oh my god, Ronan, you look like you got mauled! Wait… are those…hickies?!”

Ronan threw his hands in the air in exasperation, “No fucking shit Sherlock !”

Pointing to his neck he said, “Just take care of this please, no more questions.”

Ronan sat down on the edge of his bed in preparation for the application.

“This day needs to be recorded in the history books, today, Ronan Lynch said please.”

Ronan gave her one of his most menacing looks but Blue was impervious to them today given the situation, she was going to bask in the glory of this moment.

“Alright,” she said pretending to roll up fake sleeves, “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later and more bickering over whether or not the bruises were properly covered, there was another knock on Ronan’s door.

“Ronan, have you seen—Jane?” Gansey said as he opened the door, clearly not expecting to find Blue in Ronan’s room of all places. He looked from Ronan, to Blue, then back to Ronan again. Blue was still touching Ronan’s neck in a too intimate way, and Ronan quickly pushed her away.

Blue had a wide eyed look on her face, and opened her mouth as if to try and explain, but closed it realizing that this was a situation beyond explanation.

Gansey continued to look at them both and said slowly, “Interestingly enough, this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen today,” and turned to leave.

Nino’s hadn’t made the situation any better. Adam had been looking at him oddly, as if trying to pinpoint what exactly was out of place. Ronan did his best to stay quiet and out of the conversation to arouse the least amount of suspicion, which only ended up drawing more attention. Adam was the only one who really didn’t know what was going on; Gansey just pretended he hadn’t found Ronan in his car only a few hours ago with a neck full of hickies and Kavinsky’s sunglasses on his head, Blue just kept watching and smiling at Ronan’s obvious restlessness and discomfort.

As they all filed out of Nino’s Adam lagged half a step behind Ronan and in the sunlight, Adam finally realized what was indeed off about Ronan. The cover-up that Blue had used was half a shade too dark and too yellow, and make it look like Ronan had contracted jaundice on his neck.

Adam reached out a finger towards Ronan’s neck, “Is that--?”

Ronan whirled around and smacked Adam’s hand away, “ Why is everyone such a fucking Chatty Cathy today?! I said no fucking questions!!!”

Adam stood there, hand frozen in mid air still, while Ronan sped off to the Pig and threw himself in the passenger seat, and unfruitfully tried to pull his tank up to his neck.

“What is his deal today?”

Blue and Gansey shared a look. Blues’s said _when doesn’t he have a deal_ , and Gansey’s asked _how do we explain this?_ Blue began laughing and Gansey merely said with a smile, “He’s had a bit of a rough morning.”

 

* * *

 

That was why Ronan hadn’t noticed that his boxers were missing till today. But he had an idea of how he could get them back, as looked through his clothes again and caught sight of the shiny white plastic frames. He would propose a trade.

He knew exactly where to find Kavinsky, his pack of wolves howled not at the moon, but streetlights. He sat at a rather promising intersection where the strip was road was especially long, perfect for racing. Soon enough he heard the roar of engines and the dull bass line of souped up sound systems vibrating his car.

Ronan buzzed down his window as a white Mitsubishi rolled up next to him. He watched Kavinsky through his already open window, his sharp features created a profile  that cut through the darkness.

“So what can I do for you tonight, Mr.Lynch?” He said without looking in Ronan’s direction, but he could see half of a smirk play out on his face.

“You know damn well what I came here for, I want them back, asshole.”

“Language, Lynch.” He lazily rolled his head to the side and Ronan got a full view of his face, he gripped the steering wheel tighter, it was taking everything in him not to drag Kavinsky out of his car and beat the smirk off his face.

Ronan reached over to his passenger seat and pulled up the sunglasses in view.

“I want a trade. You get these back, and you give me what’s mine.”

Cackling was the only response Ronan got.

“A trade only works if both objects are of equal value. And your bartering tool, “ he raised an identical pair of glasses for Ronan to see, “ is worthless.”

Ronan threw the sunglasses in hands through the open window of the Mitsubishi, hitting Kavinsky’s arms  as he raised them to protect himself from the projectile.

“Jesus Christ, Lynch, you need some serious anger management. I’ll tell you what, if you beat me and I mean if, then we’ll negotiate.”

He had turned to face the street ahead again. This was the best that Ronan was going to get, as much as it pissed him off.

“Fine.”

“You know the drill then.” Kavinsky began revving his engine.  Ronan of course knew he meant they were going on green. He put his hand on the clutch in preparation.

Kavinsky always managed to get the jump on him, his Evo was always going to be hot out the gate, but Kavinsky fucked up the rapid shift necessary to keep his lead, and his car shuddered and hesitated as Ronan pulled ahead. After so long of pulling the same rookie mistake, Ronan thought he would have finally got the hang of it, Kavinsky had been driving stick longer then he had. A thought creeped into his head for just a moment, was Kavinsky fumbling the shift on purpose?

_Fuck that fucking fuck_

Ronan pushed the car to its limit making the distance between him and Kavinsky indisputable. In his rearview mirror he saw the Mitsubishi get smaller and a hand jut out the window. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_Tomorrow at 3. My house._

It was a start, Ronan decided. He wasn’t sure though what exactly he had to negotiate with though. Nothing, since he was really grasping for straws with the sunglasses. He had no drugs, and even if he did, they wouldn’t be as good as his supply. Alcohol might be his best bet, but even that he had in unlimited supply of. What the hell was he supposed to use as leverage when Kavinsky had everything he could want?

* * *

 

In the end Ronan had decided on vodka. It was better than going there empty handed, and if Kavinsky didn’t like it, well he could go fuck himself and he  was going to drink it; win-win. He contemplated showing up late to his house after all the times he kept Ronan waiting, but with Kavinsky sitting there with the upper hand, that probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

He didn’t even bother ringing the doorbell, it was unlocked and he knew that Mrs. Kavinsky wouldn’t give a flying fuck who walked into the house, if she wasn’t already preoccupied doing lines in her bathroom.  He pushed open the door and made his way down the basement of the house, Kavinsky’s lair. As he went down the stairs, he was enveloped in darkness, and he stopped half way down  when he heard somebody having very loud sex.

_Jesus fucking Christ he can’t seriously be.._

Ronan saw a fuzzy white glow coming from the base of the stairs.  He tentatively finished going down and he was relieved when he saw the top of Kavinsky’s head in one of the theater chairs, very much not fucking anyone. Porn was playing on the screen, and Ronan tried very hard not to pay attention to the moaning and smacking of skin on skin going on.

“Loosen up man, please don’t tell me this the first time you’ve seen a titty.”

“Other than your mom’s you mean?” Ronan’s jab rolled off Kavinsky as he shrugged his shoulders in response. He in a seat in the same row as Kavinsky, leaving an empty space between them. He lobed the vodka bottle in Kavinsky’s lap.

 “I hope you aren’t stupid enough to think this is going to get you back your boxers?”

Kavinsky inspected it for a moment before opening it and taking a drink straight from the bottle.

“What the hell is it that you want then? Stop fucking around. I’m not leaving here without them.”

Ronan pulled the bottle from Kavinsky’s hands and took a drink.

“You’re the biggest fucking kill joy, Lynch. I have no idea how Dick puts up with your bitching. I’ll show you where it is, but you still need to give me something for them.” 

Kavinsky lifted himself with the seat, the chair squeaking as his left it, and Ronan watched as he walked to the back of the room to a door. 

“Is that your bedroom?” Ronan’s stomach turned into a knot, he had never seen Kavinsky’s room before. 

“In one sense of the word, I prefer to call it my trophy room.”

 He saw a pair on white teeth smile in the dark, like the Cheshire Cat.

   _Let your need guide your behavior. Suppress your instinct to lead._

 Ronan took another few gulps of the vodka and followed Kavinsky into the hole in the wall.

 Kavinsky flipped the light on and when his eyes adjusted to the light, he quickly realized why it was aptly titled, the Trophy Room. Underwear lined the walls of the room; boxers, boy shorts, panties, thongs, all in a rainbow of colors. There was also some stray bras tacked on ad hoc in the mix. The room itself wasn’t quite what he had expected, it was relatively small, and there was only a bed and a night stand populating the room. A large box of condoms was tackily and probably purposefully left out. Ronan figured that Kavinsky did very little sleeping here.

 “Sometimes I manage to get a complete set,” Kavinsky said as Ronan gawked at the walls. Ronan quietly wondered how this was even remotely sanitary, but then he saw his pair of boxers tacked away from the rest, right over the head board of Kavinsky’s bed.

Ronan turned around and grabbed Kavinsky’s wife beater with both hands and pushed him back into the wall.

Kavinsky made no move to remove Ronan from himself, instead leaning into his face he said, “I was missing one final piece for my collection. I thought you’d be honored.”

He threw Kavinsky back into the wall causing his head to snap back against it, then Ronan made move for the bed to snag his boxers from the wall. Kavinsky quickly realized what he was doing and lunged at Ronan’s legs, the force of which caused Ronan to lose balance and slam his head into the dark mahogany headboard. Kavinsky clawed his way up on top of Ronan, while Ronan also tried to throw him off his back. More than once someone’s head, elbow or knee went into the headboard; they were at that point nothing more than a swirling of limbs. Ronan finally managed to pin Kavinsky down to the bed, straddling him while he had his armed pinned above his head.

“I should steal your shit more often, Lynch if it turns you into a top.”

Kavinsky was out of breath from the struggle and Ronan could feel his chest heave into his as he laid on top of him. It wasn’t the only thing that Ronan felt, and soon he was going to be just as tight as Kavinsky was obviously now in his crotch.

He was silent as he stared at Kavinsky’s lips for several moments too long.

“So you’re still going to make me make the first move, huh?”

Kavinsky leaned his faced up to Ronan’s and Ronan took care of the rest. Kavinsky tried to break free of his grasp but Ronan bit his lip in retaliation and more tightly clutched his arms together above him. Taking a hand away he dragged it down Kavinsky’s side and when he got to the bottom of his torso he snuck his hand just under the wife beater and teased with soft circles right above his belt. Kavinsky responded by lifting his hips up and started a slow grind. Instead of reciprocating, Ronan slipped his hand over Kavinsky’s crotch, and tugged hard.

Breaking away from the kiss, Kavinsky moaned in pain, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Payback,” Ronan’s smile was devious as he sat up and shifted his weight lower down Kavinsky’s legs. For a moment, Kavinsky thought he was going to leave and blue ball him again, and he rolled his head back in preparation for his impending frustration. Instead he heard the clicking of his belt being undone.

Before he could make a snarky retort, his chest involuntarily heaved up as he felt a mouth fully engulf him. The tongue snaked around and flicked at the head. Kavisnky shot a hand to grip the headboard and spewed a list of profanities.

Ronan let one of his hands crawl up under his tank while his mouth continued to work and stared to flick the nipple ring that Kavinsky had on his right side.

Kavinsky’s arm erratically shot out to the side as he lost his grip on the head board and knocked over a lamp and the box of condoms on the night stand.

“I’m gonna— _Fuck”_  He expelled the last phrased with a moan as he came.

Kavinsky could feel Ronan getting off him and the bed. He was still lying back trying to catch his breath and recover. He saw Ronan standing above him as he leaned over to grab at the boxer above the headboard. His pelvis was close enough to his face that he could see that Ronan was still pretty hard.

“Another round could help you out with that little problem of yours,” Kavinsky offered propping himself up on an elbow.

Ronan was already at the door though and he merely said, “ I’ll take a rain check, K. We’re even now, so I’ll be taking these back.” He waved the boxers in the air as a goodbye.

“No arguments here.” Kavinsky plopped back into his pillow and laughed.


End file.
